Munchies Call
by dionysianDaydream
Summary: Sugar Rush meets the movie Margin Call. An entry-level cutie pie discovers that the leading jelly bean timeshares firm she is employed at may be on the verge of collapse.
1. Chapter 1

Vanellope von Schweetz, along with the rest of the ninth floor, watched as a pair of Reeses peanut butter cups in security uniforms escorted a grumpy-gilled Gloyd Orangeboar to the elevator.

He is putting on quite a show.

"You fudgeheads have no idea what's about to happen around here! If you don't listen to me, this could potentially-"

When he passed by Vanellope their eyes met, and he discreetly slipped her a flash drive along with this dire warning:

"Be careful," is what he said, as the gingerbread elevator doors closed in front of him.

And that was the last anyone in the office saw of Mr. Orangeboar.

Truth be told, Gloyd was fired from his position as General Manager of the Financial Risk Analysis & Cupcakes department on that day six days prior, but as far as Vanellope could tell business had gone on as usual at Muttonfudge and Co.

The next day, a team came on the scene to explain why the old faithful was fired in the first place.

"He wasn't making the firm enough money to warrant his continued employment," was HR Manager Wynnchel the maple glazed eclair's excuse, and that was that.

Despite some nagging concerns, as a recent addition to the Muttonfudge and Company family Vanellope knew better than to ask any unneccesary questions.

In fact, tonight she is glimpsing into the edible flash drive's contents for the first time, more out of curiosity than anything.

But to her surprise, there is more jelly to this donut than she previously predicted.

"This is a historical volatility record of our thingummy jelly bean gobbly gook timeshare portfolio."

Candlehead yawns as she glances at the monitor screen; apparently as interested as the janitor sweeping up sprinkles a few aisles away.

"I'm guessing that's something important."

"Basically, he was using past data on the projected risk of our jelly bean timeshare packages in order to predict our future red licorice level scenarios. Seems like the algorithm still requires a few finishing touches."

"Oh, that's cool," Candlehead replies absently, as she throws on her jacket, "anyway, I'm gonna hit the road. There's this new club down the block all the other guys on the floor are checking out, called The Sugar Shack."

As enticing as a night at a dance club called 'The Sugar Shack' might seem, Vanellope is not really paying any attention; too absorbed by the numbers and literal pie graphs reflected in her bright pupils.

As the song Wolves by Phosphorescent plays in the background, another Muttonfudge employee finds himself wrapped up in another kind of drama.

Wynnchel is at a vet's office watching his Devil Dog twitch in its drug-induced sleep.

Still awake, but barely, he removes his sunglasses and rubs both his eyes while recalling how his foamy friend Fifi got into some chocolate again, only this time it could very well spell the old dog's end.

Now all he could do is watch her struggle to keep in the last of her delicious cream filling, and hope for the best.

Meanwhile, Candlehead's work cell rings while she is walking around in the off-hours salaryman's paradise that is The Sugar Shack, bouncy Japanese Pop music playing on the loudspeakers.

It is Vanellope.

"What's up," she answers, taking a quick swig from her keg of root beer.

Vanellope is pacing back and forth down the aisle, stopping briefly to break off a chocolate chip chunk from the wall which she nervously noms on as she continues.

"I think I might have discovered something huge, Candlehead. I need you to bring one of the floor managers over here. Tell them it's about the jelly bean timeshares volatility profile."

"What? Are you seriously just springing this on me now?"

Vanellope is in the rec room throwing together a bowl of miniature chocolates, lollipops, and thin mints she scavenges from the shelves and refrigerator.

"Yeah, sorry about this. It really is sort of a big deal though. I'm talking big enough to sink the entire company."

"I'd have an easier time believing a blue Skittle tastes the same as a blue M&M."

"This one's a real hard candy."

Vanellope stops halfway through unwrapping an Almond Joy, just in time to realize it is in fact an Almond Joy, and discards it into the trash can that also happens to be coconut flavored accordingly.

"Can I count on you to have somebody here within the hour?"

Candlehead glances at a clock on the wall. It's five sprinkles to the yellow macaroon.

"Yeah, but I hope for your sake that this is the real orange peel."

"Thanks a ton."

Vanellope hangs up.

Sighing, she takes a mint leaf out of her pocket and holds it up to her face, inspecting it vacantly.

"'Be careful', huh?"

The last words of her ex boss now made sense, and she knew that a firestorm was brewing, if what the results were correct.

Until Candlehead could arrive with reinforcements, Vanellope would lean back in her chair loosening up her collar a bit, and take a few mint hits while she still had the chance.


	2. Chapter 2

Before we move on any further, I feel it is necessary I disperse all doubts regarding what a 'jelly bean timeshare' actually is. In order to accomplish this, I will have to take you all the way to the vast and rich jelly bean plantations of Cocoragua.

It is here that miles and miles of nothing but jelly bean trees can be seen sprawling in all directions, and kookoo cocoa cuckoos freely flitter about in the dense canopies amidst draping strands of laughing Laffy Taffy, as little bean farming treats stand below with bushels balanced on their heads; laboring tirelessly from early dawn to sundown in order to provide the biggest, juiciest, most colorful strain of sweet beans to whoever owns the appropriate timeshare lease.

You see, since different flavors of jelly beans grow according to the season, greedy companies like Muttonfudge and Co. make sure to buy up as many acre-by-acre season-long entitlement leases as possible, so that they can offer their customers a wide assortment of flavors and turn a profit throughout the year.

The problem with this business model, as was highlighted by the long term projections Vanellope had discovered, is that it requires the supplier to place a lot of faith in the consumer demand too far in advance.

Finance Manager Rancis Fluggerbutter, who arrived at the office upon Candlehead's insistence, and stormed through the elevator doors so abruptly that Vanellope could barely put her mint leaf away in time, was already in the know about all this. After all, it was his job to know the biggest flaws in Muttonfudge's Sugah Pie Puckerface Yum-Yum portfolio.

But for whatever reason, he had overlooked one other, equally important fact.

"So...you're basically telling me that everybody's dropping their shares, leaving the entire business up Lollipop Creek without a tongue."

Vanellope nods.

"The algorithm predicts that a 20% drop would bring about a total loss that is greater than the whole sum of the company's assets," she says whilst hastily buttoning up her shirt collar, "thing is, we're way past that level."

Candlehead, who is a couple of licks away from the Tootsie Pop center of a Major in Delicious Finance anyway just hovers there, rocking back and forth on her heels and toes idlely, as the other two put their heads together.

Rancis is flailing his arms around wildly as he speaks, but Vanellope is totally relaxed under the drowsying effects of her mint hit.

"Vanellope, do you think you can get Wynnchel in the office at this hour?"

"I'll give him a ring, who cares if he's asleep. But what about Gloyd? He gave me the drive."

"I've got his number."

Rancis dials it, then holds his cutesy pink fliptop with a dangling butterscotch scented cartoon keychain up to his ear.

After a few seconds he redials but, again, no one answers.

"Aw, fudge nuggets. I can't get ahold of him."

Meanwhile, Wynnchel has just pulled out of the Funshine Rainbows Vetrinarian Clinic's parking lot when he gets the call from Vanellope.

"Jesus Cheezus it's yellow macaroon in the morning..."

"I know, but this is an emergency. I'm talking pumpkin pie without the whipped cream level urgent."

"That's pretty urgent," Wynnchel admits, sighing heavily. "Alright. You've got my attention, kid."

"We need you back at the office. Rancis is here, he said I should get you involved."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

He makes it in ten, finding Vanellope sitting at one of the rec room tables with Candlehead, feasting on her collection of coffee table candy in an attempt to stave off a mad case of the munchies.

A pile of danishes catches his eye.

"I see it's another snack time emergency," he says, closely inspecting a tantalizing strawberry frosted cupcake on the table, "if you told me, I'd have been here even sooner."

Rancis stands with his hands on his hips, looking haggard.

"I fudging wish it, sir."

With some help from Vanellope in describing the complex mechanisms behind sugarey treat based economics, Rancis brings the eclair up to date on the verging crisis while, again, Candlehead assumes the role of a thoroughly unentertained spectator, pounding her head against the table repeatedly.

"This is bad. Really, really bad."

Vanellope rolls her eyes when Wynnchel finally reacts to the news.

"We're sitting on billions of dollars worth of useless jelly bean share stocks. Yeah, I'd say we're in a pretty sticky situation."

"What the fudging, deep fried molasses are we supposed to do about this?" Rancis asks, pounding his fists against the kitchen counter as, judging by the redness of his face he is slowly transforming into a Red Hot.

"We need to take this higher up the ladder," Wynnchel goes on to say, as he heads toward the elevator; a plate with a half-eaten danish on it in one hand, and his cell in the other.

He turns to look at the others while he waits for the elevator to reach this floor, and for his call with the Big Bean Director to connect.

"Oh and candle face, could you do something for me?"

"Yes, sir?" She looks up, excited to finally be called upon for something.

Anything!

"Could you bring me another danish? Just make it something other than raspberry. We'll be on the fourteenth floor. Thanks."

He disappears into the elevator, and the others follow behind him wordlessly.

Candlehead casts Vanellope a hurt look but she just shrugs.


End file.
